Neverland
by be-loved-and-loved-in-return
Summary: There must always be a Peter Pan in Neverland, so when Peter leaves to be with Wendy, he must be replaced...


_**Diclaimer:**_ I do not own Peter Pan

* * *

_Neverland_

The bassinet rocked gently in the wind and the baby's' startled cry nearly split the house in two. The worried father gently lifted his aching son out of his bed and cradled him gently. Nothing could stop the baby from crying. His mother joined him and the baby's parents sung lull-a-bys to sooth and hush infants' fears. Nothing worked. As the father paced the room with his child, the mother had a sudden inspiration.

"All children grow up," her soothing voice echoed the words of long ago. "All but one."

The father smiled to himself. His son instantly stopped crying. They both listened as her voice wove them a tale, and the father knew his only son had inherited his liking for this particular story.

* * *

Peter use to run through grass and trees, play in tepees and swim with mermaids. He never seemed to age much, and to Wendy it seemed like only yesterday they had met. Though, when Wendy thought of her beloved Peter, her heart filled joy and sorrow. Sorrow, because she knew there was a time for everything, and Peter's time was drawing to a close.

* * *

When the boy was growing up, the father did everything he could to make his sons' childhood even better then his. He took him to the seaside, and built him a play house. Once, the boy even tried having a swing hanging from the branch of the tree. But before he could try it out, his father had to go to work. The boy was forbidden to use the swing unless his father was there, so of course the boy tried it anyway. He flew through the air, back and forth, back and forth. Flying until he couldn't stop and landed in the dirt. His mother scolded him and when he got home from work, his father was furious; he threatened to take the swing away. The boy couldn't really understand why, it was just a few bumps and bruises. But then he realised, his father was more angry at himself for not being there when his son flew. So the boy described what flying was like to his father, and was surprised to see a pained expression cross his face, like an old wound resurfacing. The father gave his son a sympathetic look and agreed to let him keep the swing. After all, he knew the feeling of flying better then anyone.

* * *

Wendy thought about Peter often, almost constantly in fact. Her only other concern in life was her husband, as in the crisis she had let her writing become a second priority. She watched Peter and knew the young boy was dying; and that her heart was breaking.

* * *

One day the boy woke up and felt very ill. He had a fever and chest pains, and his mother made him lie in bed all day. She even called for the doctor, who had whispered conversations with his mother and father after an examination. The boy was not worried; he knew his parents would look after him.

* * *

The father sat in a chair, his head in his hands. His only son had pneumonia, and the chances were not good. In frustration, he slammed his fist down on the table, but it did not help. Why oh why did he grow up for this?

The father felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see his wife. Wendy's kind eyes filled with love and tears as she stared at her husband.

"Peter," she asked "Is our son going to die?"

Peter stood and hugged Wendy as she sobbed on his shoulder. _Yes_ Peter thought _I know why I grew up. I grew up for this._

* * *

The boy had to stay in bed for weeks. At first it bothered him, and he was still allowed out occasionally – he visited the sea side again, and got to play with his swing and play house. But eventually he stopped caring as we grew weaker and weaker. His parents sat with him, and he got his mother to retell the story he loved again and again. The boy thought it a happy and timeless tale, and loved it all the more as his father, the central character and himself all shared the same name – Peter.

The boy closed his eyes, and stretched out his hands until they were met by others. Both his parents, Wendy and Peter, held his hands tightly. Then, slowly, the boy stopped listening.

* * *

Peter left his parents in the nursery that day. It was a sad time for him; he loved his parents more then anything. More then the nursery where he slept (which had been where his mother had slept in her childhood). More then the play house he pretended was a tepee, and more then the time his father had taken him to the seaside and they had pretended to see mermaids.

When Peter closed his eyes, he left the nursery and felt himself flying. He flew, to the second star on the right and straight on till morning, past pirate ships, fairy holes, and tepees and real mermaids. And somehow, Peter knew where he was – Neverland, the place in his mother's stories.

Peter knew he was in heaven.

* * *

_Ok hope you liked that guys!! its only very short (as i intended it to be) and i came up with it because i thought that the ledgend of Peter Pan can't die out and that their should always be a Peter Pan, no matter what. this is my first fan fic for peter pan, please r/r!! thank you_


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